


i’ve learned to lose you (can’t afford to)

by seekrest



Series: IronDad Bingo [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drowning, Hurt Peter Parker, Medical Inaccuracies, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Tony Stark Needs a Hug, but it’s certainly not compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22996417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/pseuds/seekrest
Summary: “Kid, if you do another backflip, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”Tony shakes his head, watching as Peter does one anyway, the splash of the water echoing in the quiet. Peter’s mop of hair dives up to the surface a few seconds later, Tony grinning.“This is awesome, Mr. Stark. Why didn’t you invite me out here sooner?”“I invite you here all the time, Pete. Not my fault you’re a college guy now, too busy to hang out with an old man like me.”Peter just laughs, swimming towards the water’s edge.—IronDad Bingo: Drowning
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: IronDad Bingo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652680
Comments: 31
Kudos: 354





	i’ve learned to lose you (can’t afford to)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blondsak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/gifts).



> If this looks familiar, it’s cause it is! Reposting my old Irondad bingo fics separately and dedicating the first one to blondsak because 1) it’s a galaxy brain idea to make fics a lot easier for people to bookmark and 2) she loves this trope.
> 
> :)

“Kid, if you do another backflip, you’re going to give me a heart attack.” 

Tony shakes his head, watching as Peter does one anyway, the splash of the water echoing in the quiet. Peter’s mop of hair dives up to the surface a few seconds later, Tony grinning. 

“This is _awesome_ , Mr. Stark. Why didn’t you invite me out here sooner?” 

“I invite you here all the time, Pete. Not my fault you’re a college guy now, too busy to hang out with an old man like me.” 

Peter just laughs, swimming towards the water’s edge. 

It was a three day weekend, the first Peter had in the semester. Tony shouldn’t be as sarcastic to the kid, Peter went to school in the city - it really wasn’t that much of a distance. 

But Tony knew, in the way all parents did, that going to college was a rite of passage - a chance to test out your independence and your boundaries. 

He already dreaded the day when Morgan would leave for college, talking to Pepper about his plans to open up a university or maybe go into teaching when the time came. Pepper would just smile, laugh and roll her eyes. 

“You’ll get your practice with Pete, you have plenty of time. You’ll be fine Tony.”

As Peter got up from the water, hair dripping with water as he grinned back at Tony, all that Tony could think of is that the practice - the time he had - still didn’t feel like enough.

He’d been afforded a second chance with his family, with Peter - the years stolen from them only a painful memory, a nightmare that he didn’t have to dwell on anymore. He flexes his arm, the twitch and whine of the mechanics still slightly foreign to his eyes. 

Tony didn’t regret taking on that gauntlet, even when the possibility of reaching the end of his life was suddenly within his grasp. But he was immensely thankful that the universe had allowed him the chance to still keep living, to enjoy the reality he hadn’t ever thought he’d be able to. 

If that life included Peter being distant - in the way all college freshmen were - then Tony could at least live with that. 

“Come on, Mr. Stark. Jump in?” 

Tony shakes his head, taking the hot dogs out of the tupperware he’d packed. “If you want to eat these anytime soon, I gotta get the grill going. Why don’t you just swim some laps, test your spider powers in the water or something?”

Peter smirked, then rolled his eyes. 

“When’d you become so boring, Mr. Stark?” 

As Peter walks back towards the cliff’s edge, Tony shakes his head, muttering to himself. 

“You snap your fingers to eliminate a maniac, age seemingly thirty years in five and come back to me with your shit, kid.”

“I heard that.”

“Wasn’t trying to hide it!” Tony yells, faintly hearing the kid’s laugh as he climbs up to the cliff’s edge. 

It was a hidden alcove on their property, a brook that fed into the lake that their cabin overlooked. Tony and Pepper had come across it by accident in those first five years, but had committed to wait to bring Morgan out there until she learned to swim. 

When the world was made whole again and Peter was back, Tony figured that the kid could at least enjoy it in the meantime. 

Tony starts up the grill, laying out the condiments he knew Peter liked. He finds the mayo in the cooler, nose wrinkling until he remembers some stupid shit with Barton and his own family’s weird hot dog condiment habits, laughing at how the man had managed to prank him in his own home when he was hundred of miles away.

He hears the splash from Peter’s latest jump, busying himself with laying out the buns. Tony had almost forgotten how much the kid ate, Pepper stockpiling as much as she could in the few times Peter had come to visit before school began. 

Morgan got a kick out of it, how much Peter ate - to the point where Tony had to intervene and convince her that Peter was _not_ a human garbage disposal. 

Peter, the little shit, had only done the exact opposite - encouraging Morgan in feeding him nearly anything off her plate that she didn’t like.

Except brussel sprouts, which Peter seemed to have an unexplainable distaste for considering it was one of the things Tony was damned good at making. 

He’d never been much for cooking, before the end of everything, and cooking now with a mechanical arm had been something of a learning curve - but Tony still enjoyed it.

There was something quiet in cooking, calming and methodical. Pepper argued that baking was more soothing but Tony liked to believe it was cooking that was really the better way to zone out. 

Mixing the ingredients together, adding in certain spices, taste testing until it was _just right_ \- it was a way for Tony to express himself creatively, especially in a time when all that energy that he used to expend in the lab, on suits, with a kid - couldn’t be given. 

Tony counted out the hot dog buns, making sure he had enough for the two of them before adding in a couple more to be safe. He slathered them with butter, putting the hot dogs out on the grill. 

It was something Tony wanted to teach Peter, knowing how abysmal his own aunt’s cooking skills were. May was a force of nature, but cooking was certainly not something he’d learn from her. 

Tony smiles to himself at the idea of Peter’s girlfriend teaching him to cook, only since it seemed Michelle was clearly gifted in the kitchen yet refused to allow Peter to talk about it.

“She says it’s stereotypical, and that if I want to learn how to cook, I should do it on my own time.” Peter had said to him once, over the phone after Tony had articulated his plans to Peter. 

Tony just laughed, at the exasperation in Peter’s voice but more for how much he seemed to be completely enamored with her.

Tony had only met Michelle once - enough for him to know that she was just as formidable as Peter had claimed her to be - but he liked her, especially for how she seemed to challenge Peter in ways that Tony could only hope to. 

It was another sign of Peter growing up, something that Tony could only be thankful for - considering he didn’t think he’d ever get the chance to see it. 

He frowns looking down at the buns, something pressing in the back of his mind. 

_More salt? Maybe pepper?_ Tony looks back to the hot dogs, an itch in the back of his neck that causes a twitch to form in his arm. He’s forgetting something, but he can’t quite figure out what it was. 

He got pickles. Lettuce. Onions. Mustard. Ketchup. He goes through the ingredients once more, double-checking for the plates and the napkins even as something starts to gnaw at him in the pit of his stomach. 

Peter had argued that he could just do without plates, Tony looking at him in disgust when said so. He hadn’t always been such of a slob, but Tony figured college had changed him - or maybe Tony had different standards, domesticated living having an effect on him in more ways than one. 

He’d have to talk to Peter about that, especially if he and his girlfriend stayed together for any length of time. A messy bachelor is a choice but a messy boyfriend is an annoyance. Peter would have to learn---

It hits Tony suddenly, the air knocked out of his lungs. He turns towards the brook in horror, the realization making his stomach drop as he gasped. 

Peter had jumped. He’d heard the splash. Distant, Tony can’t remember how long ago it was.

But Peter should’ve been out of the water by now, should have already been beside him, chattering and bothering him about how hungry he was. 

Tony feels like he can’t breathe, frozen as his eyes dance around the brook.

Peter had jumped.

He hadn’t come back up.

 _Fuck._

Tony’s running towards the lake, food forgotten. He dives into the brook without a second glance, opening his eyes under the murky water. He’s swimming, as fast his arms and legs can take him, until he sees him. 

Peter’s arms and legs are listless, floating above him. Tony’s stomach drops at the blood in the water, flowing from and around his head. Peter looks almost as if he’s asleep, eyes closed as he drifts. 

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Tony swims faster than he ever has, tucking his arm under the Peter’s and bringing them back to the surface. He’s never been more thankful that he snapped his fingers, that his life almost ended on that miserable battlefield, if only for the power that his mechanical arm gave him, rushing them to the surface.

Tony gasps as they break the surface, watching in panic as Peter’s head just rolls backwards, not breathing at all.

“Come on, kid, come on.” Tony paddles to the edge of the brook as fast as he can, the swelling sense of dread in his stomach churning around until he feels as if he’s going to throw up. 

He lurches himself out of the water, bringing Peter backwards as Tony scrambles to bring him completely out.

“Pete, come on, kid.” Tony starts chest compressions, inwardly kicking himself for not paying better attention. 

Peter was eighteen, more than capable of taking care of himself, yet all Tony can think of in his blind panic is how he’d completely missed Peter not coming back up for air. 

He had to have hit his head, the blood in the water and seeping now on the ground underneath him making Tony’s stomach churn. 

Peter had something he called a spider-sense, precognitive in that it warned him of danger. Tony keeps the compressions going, wondering why the hell those senses hadn’t worked for this. 

“Peter, Peter I need you to breathe dammit.” He leans down to give two rescue breaths, the panic continuing to flow though him as Peter’s lips start to tinge blue, Tony resuming chest compressions. 

He feels something crack underneath his palms but Tony’s insistent, his mind racing as his vision focuses on Peter’s pale skin.

How long had he been down there? How much time had Tony wasted, counting hot dog buns and waxing poetic about cooking?

Tony can’t even think of it, wondering how the hell he’d missed it. 

He’d been so concerned about Peter’s cleanliness, about condiments, about teaching him how to cook.

_Something he would never get the chance to learn if he didn’t… fucking… breathe._

“COME ON, PETER. COME ON.” Tony’s yelling, the anxiety and the dread manifesting into full-fledged fear. 

He can’t die, not like this. Of all the shit the kid had been through, of all the things Tony had done to save him, dying in a fucking cliff diving accident was not on the fucking table.

Tony delivers two more rescue breaths, feeling the tears welling up in his eyes and another rib crack as he continues compressions.

“Peter, kid. Please, don’t do this. Please. Please.” Tony times his pleas with his compressions, the act of it breaking him as Peter’s remains unnaturally still, his lips a horrifying shade of blue, his body turning pale white. 

Tony shudders at the sight, refusing to accept it as he continues.

 _No. No. No. No. No._

It’s a cycle in his head, a ringing in his ears. Peter couldn’t die, not like this - not ever. He’d done too much to save him, risked everything to bring him back. 

He starts to beat on Peter’s chest, the tears stinging his eyes. 

“Fuck. Come on, Peter. Come on. COME ON.” 

He lands one last blow on his chest, Tony shaking as the terror overwhelms him.

He can’t lose Peter, not like this - not with something he could’ve prevented, something he should’ve watched out for.

It’s benign, common - a death that makes Tony’s head spin. 

Peter had fought against aliens, alongside wizards and gods. The idea of Peter dying in something as simple as an accident, Tony just feet away from him, on a lazy three day weekend is beyond him. 

As if the universe heard his pleas, Tony hears an awful sound that quickly turns into immeasurable relief. Peter starts to gag, lurching to life as Tony immediately rushes the kid to his side, not even caring at he vomits out the water that had filled his lungs. 

Tony rubs his back soothingly, waiting as Peter’s body forces the water out, the kid almost convulsing with how much of it had been there.

As soon as Tony can see that the water’s out, clearing the vomit out with his fingers, he gingerly lays the kid back down in the recovery position, watching in relief as Peter starts to breathe. 

It’s ugly, gasping and haggard and yet to Tony, it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. 

Tony checks for a pulse, an afterthought at the sound of the kid’s breathing. Peter’s heartbeat is steady, if not slow, Tony pushing away some of the hair out of his face. 

Tony can smell the hot dogs burning, but can’t even bring his eyes up to look at them - solely focused on Peter. 

“God, kid. You really trying to give me a heart attack, huh?” Tony whispers, putting his hands to Peter’s face. 

Peter doesn’t respond, his eyes still closed, his breath still shaky and irregular. But Tony doesn’t care, the tears still flowing down his face - in relief. 

The kid was alive. 

The kid hadn’t died. 

And to Tony, that’s all that mattered.   
  



End file.
